Chapter #54Interrogations and Surprises by: Seuzz   You decide to leave the mask in place. You don't know what Eric Kim is capable of--though your eyes dart over to those electrodes--but you know what Joe and Frank are capable of, and you prefer to take your chances with the fat owner of the comic book shop.
"What's going on?" your double whines.
"Just shut up," you snarl.
"You're not the boss of me. Patterson says--"
You put your hands over your ears, and he lapses into a resentful silence.
Ten minutes pass, the door opens, and Eric comes back in. He chuckles as he looks between you. "You didn't switch clothes on me, did you?"
"No."
"Aw, it woulda been more fun that way. Oh well." He locks the door and turns to your twin. "So you're another Will Prescott. This one here--" He cocks his head at you. "He was wearing a mask that made him look like a girl. I don't think he's one of a set of twins, so if that's his real face, you must also be wearing a mask, one that makes you look like--"
"I don't know what you're talking about," your twin says bluntly.
"I'm so glad you said that." Eric puts a fat hand on the golem's shoulder, and rests the other on the side of his stomach. "Say it again."
"I don't know-- Gyaahhhh!!" He convulses and falls against the wall. Eric follows him, a gloating smile on his face. "I don't-- Aaaiiigghhhh!! Yes, okay, I'm wearing a mask!"
"Take it off for me? Which of you's better looking?"
"I can't!" He twists and writhes in Eric's grasp.
"He can't, Eric!" you shout. It's only a golem, but you can't stand the sight and sound of someone who looks like you screaming that way. "It's stuck on him! Only I can--!" You shut your mouth with a snap.
Eric turns that sunny, psychotic smile on you. "You can get it off him? Then take it off him for me."
"You don't want me to. Really, you don't. You don't know who's--"
He releases the golem and waddles over to you, grinning all the way. He lays his hands on you. "Why not? Who's under there?"
You tense, and feel a terrified smile play over your face.
Every nerve in your body screams. You do too. And he doesn't let up until you've gasped out everything you know: About masks, the Libra, Patterson, Arnholm's Used Bookstore, and all about Frank and Joe Durras.
* * * * *
Your guts feel liquefied, and Eric's two goons practically have to pour you into the BMW, along with an equally stricken golem. You lay on your side on the entire drive out, and let them carry you back into the Strausslers' mansion.
They deposit you in some kind of sitting room. Curt Straussler is there, along with three other burly guards who are standing behind a sofa. And sitting on the sofa is Steve Patterson. He's wearing a very pinched and angry expression, and there are big bruises on his face.
Something about his appearance strikes you as being wrong. Not until Curt Straussler speaks do you realize what it is: Patterson is wearing some of Jonathan's clothes.
"And I found another one," Straussler says, his voice frozen with fury. He jabs a finger at a mask resting on the coffee table in front of Patterson. "This one disguised as my own son!"
You look wide-eyed up at Patterson. He sneers back.
Eric, who has followed you in, laughs. "Do you blame him, Curt? Your kid's got it all. Looks, talent, money. Doting parents." Straussler shows his teeth. "A hot girlfriend, too, probably. Let's see." He glances mirthfully between you and Patterson. "You were done up like Jonathan, and you were done up like his girl. So, were you two--?"
"No!" you gasp, turning very red in the face. Patterson sneers and looks away. "I didn't even know he was there!"
"You gotta name, kid?" Eric asks your teammate.
"Steven Patterson," Straussler says on his behalf. "My own boys got that much out of him."
"And you two know each other," Eric says, this time to you. "You told me--"
"You got a big fucking mouth, Prescott," Patterson growls. "And you're a fucking--" But he shuts up at a glance from Straussler.
"Move the tall one into the panic room," Eric says to Straussler. "I've got some questions for him."
"And the other one?"
"Leave him here," Eric shrugs. "After what I did to him, I doubt he'll be able to sit up straight for a week."
* * * * *
So they leave you, and you do spend it laying on your side, nursing bruises in layers you didn't know you had. You've got plenty of time to think, but no energy to do it, and you even ignore Gerhardt when the latter comes in with some toast and tea. He ignores you too.
An hour or so passes before Eric reappears, looking as fresh as when he'd left you. "Don't feel too bad, Will," he tells you. "I exaggerated earlier. The pain will actually go away in a little while, and you'll be totally fine. I didn't damage you, and you actually held up better than your friend. Yeah, you did good." He chuckles and studies a clipboard he's carrying. "You did amazing."
You're not inclined to reply, and don't.
"Now, this Frank and Joe Durras," he continues. "That's some pretty interesting shit you told me about them. That's really Joe under that mask of the guy who's looking like you, right?" He scratches the side of his face. "And Frank is back at their place, under a mask that looks like Joe? Dude, that's hard-core squicky." He drops a cell phone by your head. "Call him, tell him to come out here."
You feebly pick up the phone, then put it down. "I can't. He hasn't got a set of wheels."
"Oh. Well, in that case, call him and tell that a fat Korean doofus is gonna swing by and pick him up. Tell him to come with me."
With infinite loathing and reluctance, you comply.
"Thanks," Eric says. "Here--" He bends over, and you flinch back. "Don't worry, I'm just trying to speed your recovery." He lays gentle hands on you, and kneads at you. You grunt. He massages you in this way for a minute or so, and you do feel better when he quits. But you don't thank him, and he doesn't appear to expect you to.
* * * * *
Again, you're left alone to stew. Night falls, and Gerhardt walks quietly through, switching on lamps. He takes the untouched tray, and returns with a fresh one. Now you do feel well enough to eat. It's dry and not very nourishing, but it does fill a void inside you.
A small clock has just chimed nine when the door opens, and Jonathan Straussler steps in. For a moment you think it must be Patterson, but you've only to see the look of dark loathing on his face to know that it's the real kid. You've been wondering what happened to him, but say nothing to him, and look away. He stares for another minute before withdrawing.
Twenty minutes later the door opens again, and Patterson, supported by one of Straussler's goons, stumbles through and collapses on the sofa opposite you. He glares malevolently at you from one open eye. "Fucker."
"You expected me to hold out? Eric did the same thing to me."
He glowers. "I didn't mean that," he says thickly. "You cocking up, coming out here to try getting Straussler--"
"I didn't know you were here. And I already had a mask of him. Gordon sent me here, told me to cook up a break up between Jonathan and Monique."
"Oh, fuck," Patterson says, and closes his eye. "Fucking Gordon. I hope they get him too."
"What do you think they're gonna do to us?"
"Disappear us. Throw us into some goddamned government warehouse and let the rats eat us." He breathes heavily. "Turn us into golems. I told them where the book is."
It's too horrible not to be true.
* * * * *
But then your luck seems to change. The two of you are taken outside and bundled back into the BMW. You are driven to the airport and put onto a small private jet; after you are airborne, a lovely stewardess comes into your cabin and serves you a small but sumptuous meal of steak, lobster and French fries drizzled in some kind of cheese sauce. You feel well enough to eat, but Patterson remains green.
Beds are pulled from the wall, and the two of you are tucked away for the night.
Some hours later you are awoken and taken from the plane and put in a silver Bentley. It's mid-morning, by the feel of it, but the sky is overcast and the air cold. Not until you've been the road for thirty minutes do you notice everyone is driving on the left-hand side.
After two hours of travel through countryside, you are deposited in front of one of those great big English manors like you've seen on TV. You and Patterson are both well enough to walk up broad stone steps, and are guided into a cozy parlor, where you are asked to wait. The two of you can only exchange wary glances.
A clock on the mantle chimes two, and a door that's been hidden behind some paneling opens. A man in a dark three-piece suit steps out. He looks like he's in his sixties, with a narrow, well-lined face and white hair. His eyes twinkle warmly, and he greets you with quiet but formal courtesy. "Mr. Prescott. Mr. Patterson. So pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Hyde-White. I know this must feel like a kidnapping, and for that I must and do apologize, most whole-heartedly. But it is, in fact, a job interview. I should like to make you boys a most lucrative and exciting offer."  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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